


Unbreakable

by SirHestiaJones



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dark, F/F, Power Play, Psychological Drama, Sexual Situations, Substance Abuse, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-05-18
Packaged: 2017-12-08 18:39:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/764717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirHestiaJones/pseuds/SirHestiaJones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Time has a habit of changing our lives, our thoughts, our priorities; the things that were important to us then are often not what are important to us now. We’re remoulded and reshaped, our malleable selves determined by new desires, new goals, new feelings to be passionate about. That’s what makes us human.</p><p>I am Hermione Granger. I’m twenty-two years old. I have a new reason to live, and it’s Ginny Weasley."</p><p>Hermione Granger has been asked to investigate Pansy Parkinson’s successful and suspicious escort company. But when she joins Glamour Escort Services under a false identity, she’s forced to make decisions she never expected to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Brittle as Glass

The air shouldn’t have to feel so solid in my lungs. 

Molly warned me about that a few days after the funeral. A time would come when the tears will stop and it would be trouble. You know you’ve hit the pits when you want to cry but can’t. I didn’t believe her then. I should have. Molly has lost far more loved ones than anybody I know. Perhaps, I couldn’t concentrate on her words. It’s possible that was the case. I was busy crying. 

I can’t now. I can’t do it. The ache is there, gathering momentum within my chest for nothing. It will not go as all exit points have been blocked. I won’t even scream or dismantle things, no matter how much the sight of these dark roses make me want to whip my wand out and curse them to explode. How dare they stay permanently fresh? 

How stupid was I to even cast the charm in the first place? How insane was I to think that if the roses didn’t wither, it would mean something positive? That, somehow, this would change the fact that he’s gone? 

He really is, isn’t he? They wouldn’t have buried the body otherwise. This headstone wouldn’t be here otherwise. I wouldn’t be inhaling what seem to be shards of crystal otherwise. 

For the wizarding world, today marks the fourth anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. For a few, it means four years have passed since Fred, Remus, and Tonks died. And mostly Ron. To me, anyway. 

_Ron is dead._

Eventually, I’ll have to say that aloud. One day. One fine day.

As is the unusual custom, we mark the second of May with a big lunch at the Burrow. It’s a long walk from this meadow to the house. By the time I reach the place, they’ll all have been there, waiting for me. I don’t want to go, but I have nowhere else to go. 

Harry is the first person I see. He’s lobbing gnomes over the hedge, and he doesn’t hear me the first two times I call him. When he eventually acknowledges my presence, there’s a half-hearted smile on his face. He has stubble now. I hug him, awkwardly. “I haven’t seen you in a long time.” 

“I’ve been busy.”

“Doing what?” 

He shrugs. 

“Cleaning up Grimmauld Place?” I ask him, making an effort to sound stern. “Because, Harry, you’ve been doing that for two years at least.”

It works. He’s grinning. “It’s a great old dirty house, and I like to clean with my hands.”

With a snort, I slip my arm into his and lead him into the kitchen. We’re silent now, and yet I think - I am certain - there’s something comforting about us being like this that we don’t have to make small talk. As I expected, everybody is there. Everybody who _can_ be. They yell hello’s at me, and “Did you get rid of all the gnomes, Harry?” As I greet them, I feel Harry disengaging himself. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch him approach Ginny and give her a peck on the cheek. It looks like something done out of habit; his arms don’t go around her waist, for instance. Ginny pats him on the shoulder in return, and then the two of them move on, Harry heading for Charlie, and Ginny, for me.

Everything is crumbling. 

“Mione.”

“Don’t call me that, Ginny!”

She laughs. “D’you want to help me set up the table?”

“I will if you drop that ridiculous name.”

“All right.” Rolling her eyes, she adds, “I thought you loved Cormac calling you that.”

“Let’s not discuss him. He sickens me.”

“He likes you,” she says, with some hesitance.

Cormac McLaggen. An utter prat who works in the Department of Magical Games and Sports. I suppose he fancied me in school; he was vile even then, spending most of his waking hours taking stupid bets and singing his own praises. I was hoping not to ever cross paths with the man, but I had to work with him on a Bludger-tampering case last month. He insisted on calling me 'Mione in front of everybody. Ginny, who works in the same department, unfortunately heard him once. 

“I’d like to think I can do better,” I reply through gritted teeth. 

“You definitely could.”

Lunch passes in a haze, the voices and aroma and flavours and textures sweeping me along, making me burst into laughter that comes out in sudden spurts. Fleur speaks the most; she’s pregnant again. It’s a good topic to discuss, so we all grab it. I try not to think of Ron, of marrying him and having his babies. It’s difficult not to, though; I am in the Burrow, sitting on this table where we had meals together. Funny how I never imagined that far into the future before his death, and how powerfully these thoughts have invaded me since. 

_Let it go._

“Are you okay?” Ginny asks me afterwards. We’re alone in the kitchen, cleaning up. 

“Hmm.”

“No, you aren’t.” 

I don’t reply, focussing instead on directing the plates to wash themselves. 

“You should go out with somebody.”

“Easy for you to say,” I snap, and then immediately regret it. And yet, I don’t apologise.

“It isn’t,” she says quietly. 

“Ginny, I-”

“No, don’t. I am sorry.”

+++

_My name is Hermione Granger, and I work in the Criminal Investigation Branch. I am twenty-two years old._

I stare at the parchment, thinking of things to add, determined to avoid my non-existent relationship status. 

_I love reading and I believe in equality._

That’s true.

_Sometimes, I wish -_

“Granger!”

That’s my boss. Wiping off the text from the parchment, I look up and nod at her. “We need help with the Parkinson case,” she announces, dumping a stack of folders on the desk. “Jackson has failed to find anything illegal, and you’re good with loopholes, so there you go.”

It is a huge stack of folders. “What’s the story so far?” I ask.

“Jackson will do the explaining in a bit.” She has already turned away and is returning to her office.

“Right,” I mutter. I untie the charm holding the files and pick out the topmost one. _Pansy Parkinson_. Reading the title itself makes me sigh. Dear old Pansy. I’m not sure if I’m curious or bored, although, the fact that she has done something to merit being looked into by our division says a lot about the nature of whatever she’s been up to. 

A picture of her greets me on the first page. It’s in black and white, but you can tell she’s wearing a heavy amount of make-up from the dark eyes with heavy lashes and the almost black lips - features that I don’t remember her having at school. She looks attractive in a way most women wouldn’t dare to do. Or _care_ , I amend myself. 

“Pretty, isn’t she?” Jackson comments, pulling up a chair. “Absolutely cunning as well.”

“Mmm. I knew her at school,” I answer noncommittally. Pansy was a piece of work, but not particularly devious. Then again, contrary to what I’ve just told Jackson, I didn’t know her that well. “Boot has just thrown this on me. What’s going on?”

“Have you heard about Glamour Escort Services?”

“No?”

“You’ve been living under some rock, I assume.”

“I’ve never needed an escort,” I tell him irritably. 

“All right, all right!” he says. “Anyway, it is owned by Parkinson’s family. They started it four years ago just as the war got over. You know, when the wizarding world went crazy with the parties and celebrations? It was still a small business, but it began steadily gaining popularity. Problem is, we got a tip-off about how their annual earnings don’t match with the estimates provided by our tax department. Padraig Parkinson’s administration has obviously left out several things in the income reports they sent in.”

“I suppose Gringotts isn’t helping?”

“Nope. Gringotts will never divulge details of their clients’ accounts.”

“What about the person who gave the tip-off?”

“He’s dead.” Jackson draws a line round his throat as if to emphasise his point. I don’t much like Jackson. “Or at least the person who we suspect of being the whistleblower is.” He gingerly picks out a blue folder from the pile and gives it to me. “That’s him.”

Marvin Rhodes. Age fifty. Accounts manager at Glamour Escort Services. Died in his sleep. I can vaguely recall reading about this a few months ago, but since our division doesn’t allow the investigators to discuss each other’s work unless ordered otherwise, I didn’t know there was supposed to be anything suspicious about the case. “Why do you think he was the whistleblower, apart from the fact of his conveniently timed death?”

“His daughter works at the place as a receptionist,” Jackson says, his voice soft and slow for dramatic effect. 

“And?” 

“Flip the page.”

I flip it, and find the employee profile of Selene Rhodes, an exceptionally beautiful girl with strawberry blonde hair. There are two photos of her. In the first one, she’s wearing blue robes. In the other, it’s a pale gold negligee. “Well, this looks really ...”

“Our people found this photo in one of Marvin’s drawers, but when we asked her about it, she said it was taken by her boyfriend. He confirmed this was true. They both appeared shocked when we told them that Marvin had it. Said it was a private thing between them.” Jackson straightens up and adds, “Observe the photos closely.”

“Okay.” 

The backgrounds are different, but the paper quality is of the same high-gloss, thick material. In the wizarding world, people often use whatever paper they can find for developing photographs, since the process is completed with charms. This one appears expensive, and more importantly, Muggle-made. “Is this boyfriend a professional photographer?” I ask Jackson. “What sort of camera does he own?”

“A cheap one?” Jackson replies. “The type that comes with a simple lens, and without a flash. That’s what I thought, too. Unless he’s a pro who cares for his art, I don’t think he’d go for the expensive paper.”

“And they claimed this photo was supposed to be private,” I add. “So, they wouldn’t have given it to a proper store to have this developed.”

“Exactly. These photos were developed at Colin’s Camera Carnival, which we both know is the premier store in this field as far as the UK is concerned. I asked the owner about it, and he said Selene herself had come to drop off the negatives as well as collect them.”

“So ...” I pick my words carefully. “The Parkinsons are running a brothel and Selene Rhodes is more than just a receptionist?”

“That appears to be the thing,” he tells me. “At any rate, it is more than just an escort service. But we don’t have any other leads. None of the employees will talk. The investigation into Rhodes’ death didn’t turn up anything; our Healers said it was natural causes. His daughter certainly isn’t saying anything, and she’s still employed by the company, which is now owned by Pansy.” After a pause, he continues. “It’s odd she does. Her father’s too young to retire, and she’s too young to run it on her own.”

“Where do I come in?” I ask, suddenly nervous for reasons I can’t put my fingers on. “Why aren’t we waiting for further evidence?”

“But that’s why I need you. We want further evidence. Boot and I want you to apply for a job there.”

“As an accountant?”

“No.” He has the grace to hesitate before dropping the proverbial bomb. “As an escort.”

I open my mouth to protest, but at that moment, catch Boot’s eye. She’s standing in her office, beckoning me with a finger. On cue, Jackson nods and leaves for his cubicle.

“You aren’t comfortable with the idea,” states Boot. “But let me tell you why I chose you, Granger. Don’t just stand there. Sit.” She continues speaking as soon as I’ve taken a seat. “This isn’t just a job for you, is it, Granger?” I shake my head slowly. “When people interview for this division, they say they want to eradicate crime from society. I believe them. There is, however, a difference between getting rid of the crime itself and getting rid of its origin. You know that difference well.”

“Do I?” I ask numbly.

She takes off her glasses and glares at me. “Yes, you do, and get rid of that melancholy. I’m sick of you looking like a lost Crup.”

“Okay.”

“You started a cause for house-elves at the age of fourteen, a cause that didn’t work precisely because no one gave a damn. Why didn’t they? To them, it was natural that house-elves slave through their existence. If anybody hears a house-elf is being mistreated, they will take on the case since mistreating a living being is a crime. But what if the house-elf doesn’t want to press charges? What if he claims it’s only natural that a house-elf should be punished for not doing his duties well? The case falls apart.” 

“When it shouldn’t.”

“Correct, Granger. It shouldn’t. Which is why I am choosing you. _You_ care as much as you should. Why isn’t Selene Rhodes being more helpful? What is Parkinson doing behind the façade? Is she manipulating her employees? Are they doing whatever it is they’re doing out of free will? Obviously, whatever’s going on there isn’t completely legal, and I need the best I have to uncover this shady business. Is that clear?”

Taking a deep breath, I tell her, “Yes.”

+++

The Parkinson files now lie scattered around my bedroom. It took me less than an hour to go through them. Glamour Escort Services was opened in October, 1998, without much fanfare, with an employee count of ten people. Within two years, the number had risen to forty, with about twenty-five witches and wizards working as escorts, four-fifths of them being immigrants. After Pansy took over in the middle of 2001, they hired twenty more people. Forget the part about income anomalies; the arguably small magical community of Great Britain isn’t blessed with that many social events or rich people that should warrant such a huge escort service.

I have seen the official catalogue and seen the pictures of the models. The men are clean-shaven, athletic, and wholesome; the females are proportionate, sensual and glamorous. Stripping down to my pants, I walk in front of the mirror and scrutinise my body. 

There is a small bump on my belly - fat, not a baby. I have never had sexual intercourse. I nearly did with a colleague, but we were both slightly drunk and somehow managed not to go that far. 

I need to get rid of this bump. My hips are too wide, my breasts too flat. They are the first modifications I make. I assume they do these things at the company anyway. The trickier part is changing my identity. They wouldn’t take a risk, letting just about anybody in. Surely, they conduct tests to see if you are who you claim to be, or an impostor.

Boot has given me a month off to prepare my avatar. I take the chance to buy some stuff from Muggle London. The first day, I visit a hairdresser and get my brown curls straightened and dyed. I also buy green contact lenses and fake eyelashes. A friend of my mother, who is a make-up specialist, has agreed to make a prosthetic nose for me. My parents, however, have refused to whiten my teeth, saying it’s not worth it. I’ll have to ask some other dentist. 

I also need to sign up for a speech and elocution class to cultivate an American accent. I might have to borrow my father’s DVD player and a huge chunk of my mum’s DVD collections. If I take down some of the heavy wards and charms I put up, the device will work properly. 

Perhaps, I can start with _Erin Brockovich_.

+++

Today marks the completion of the third week of my transition. Donnita Cabros is almost ready. My teeth look whiter. I have black, ramrod straight hair that is somewhat reminiscent of Cho Chang’s, and my eyes are a dark green. The accent is somewhat shaky, but that shouldn’t be a big problem; Donnita’s parents are an Italian couple. She was home-schooled, so that none of the American employees at the company will have to pester her for information about which institution she had attended. She has rented a flat in London.

Presently, I am at Dorothy’s, the make-up specialist who has finished making the prosthetic nose and is now teaching me how to blend the outline into the area around my nose. Tomorrow, I’ll go to the Ministry and win a new wand, since I can’t use my own. The Ministry now stocks old wands that haven’t sold at Ollivander’s in centuries, or belonged to deceased wizards and witches, stripped of any latent association with their previous owners and modified. If anybody wishes to use a different wand while going undercover, they can request a duel with a witch or wizard, made of wood but charmed to fight. They will, of course, have to win the duel in order to fully possess the new wand.

I’m ready for all of this; I’m just not sure how I’m going to fare as an actor. Impersonating somebody else is a task I’ve already undertaken twice, and I don’t remember being very convincing in either case. This could be easier. I’ll be a person nobody has met before. Maybe Donnita tends to get nervous. Maybe she is inept at seducing people. Maybe she is recovering from heartbreak.

Maybe, I need to get a grip on myself.

“Remind me why you’re doing this, Hermione,” Dorothy mumbles as she applies a few tender brushstrokes on my left cheek. “Nothing illegal, I hope?”

I laugh. “I’m acting in a play,” I answer.

“Jean never told me you are into theatre and drama.”

“Oh, it’s nothing fancy. It’s a silly little play for a select group of people.”

“You must be very dedicated to go to so much trouble for a silly little play.” She puts down the brush and swings my chair around so I can look at the mirror. Donnita could pass off as a far cousin, but one more exotic and alluring. The eyes, the lipstick, the hair, the straighter nose, the sharper cheekbones - it’s definitely not Hermione Granger. 

“What can I say, Dorothy?” says Donnita in her halfway-house accent, leaning forward and turning her face from side to side. “I am a perfectionist.”

A wide smile appears on Dorothy’s face as she replies, “ _That_ is something Jean always told me.”

+++

It’s my last night as Hermione for the foreseeable future. I am in my new flat, which is small but comfortable, going through my wardrobe. The clothes are of a design I’d normally not even try on at a store: plunging necklines, too-high hemlines, lace, satin, strappy, strapless. My footwear might kill me. I am no stranger to tall shoes, but I’m not in the habit of living in them. I have to admit everything looks beautiful, though, and I silently applaud the person who did the shopping for Donnita.

As scheduled, Boot’s head appears in the fireplace around eight. 

“Good evening,” I wish her as Donnita.

“You look wonderful,” she says. “Though not as beautiful as your usual self.”

“Thanks,” I say with a smile. 

“Is everything ready? Your identification papers and permit?”

I nod.

“You don’t think it’s safe to communicate via the normal channels.”

“No,” I tell her. “Owls can be intercepted, and the Floo network isn’t foolproof. Using Patronuses would end this mission before you can say “' _Expecto Patronus_ ”'. The Protean Charm method is the best. You just have to keep the coin with you at all times and not use it by mistake.”

“I won’t,” she assures me. “The department thinks you’re in Budapest, with the exception of Jackson. I trust that’s what you told your people as well?”

I think of the terse letters I sent to Harry, Ginny and my mother. “Yes.” 

“Good.” For a full second, she doesn’t speak. I’m amused by how odd her head looks just sitting there among the crackling flames. “That’s it then, Granger,” she says abruptly. “I wish you the best of luck.”


	2. Stronger Bones

+++

Glamour Escort Services is a small office on the outside, whitewashed and with pots of flowers along the base and the stairs, and on each side of the three mahogany front doors. It’s not at all a glamorous façade; if anything, it leaves the impression of an innocuous travel agency. Highly deceptive, of course, just like any wizarding building likes to be. Taking a deep breath, I walk up the stairs and try to push the middle door open. It doesn’t budge.

“Welcome to Glamour Escort Services,” announces a chirpy female voice. “Please identify yourself and state the purpose of your visit.”

“Donnita Cab-” My voice comes out squeaky and I have to clear my throat. “Donnita Cabros. I’d like to work at the company as an escort.” After a pause, I add, “Since you don’t advertise with the papers, I assume people just pop up at your doorstep and apply for the job.”

“Thank you for your co-operation, Miss Cabros. Please knock on the door to your right three times.”

“Thanks!” I yell. I approach the door and give three sharp raps. It opens to an enclosed space like the inside of a lift. As soon as I step inside, the door closes. There are no buttons, just three bare steel walls. 

“Welcome to Glamour Escort Services.” This time, it’s a male voice. He sounds just as happy. “You will now be scanned by magical detection charms to check what kind of spells you have arrived with. Please bear with us while we carry out the procedure. The amount of time taken is directly proportionate to the amount of magic currently active on your person.”

A strange, buzzing sensation washes over me right after the speech. It goes down to my toes, and back up again to the tip of my head. “Engorgement Charm on the hips,” the male voice speaks. “A glamour charm on the waist area. Engorgement Charm on the chest. Undetectable Extension Charm on the purse. Scan is complete.”

The buzzing feeling instantly lifts. 

“The first three are permitted on the company premises. Please empty your purse on the table.”

A table materialises out of thin air in front of me. I carefully put the contents of my purse on display: a lipstick, a lip gloss, compact powder, foundation, eye make-up, facial tissue, a small vial of perfume, a silk handkerchief, a notebook, self-refilling quills, my identification papers and permits, a few Sickles, and a lot more Galleons, including the fake one. The male voice records the list. 

“Please undo the charm and turn the purse upside down.”

I obey. Nothing happens.

“Thank you for your co-operation, Miss Cabros. You may now enter the building.”

The wall to my left melts away, revealing a large reception hall with mahogany flooring, dark green velvet sofas, crystal tables and silvery globules of light on the ceiling. There is a lone girl standing behind the reception desk at the far end; she has a face I have seen before. Selene Rhodes. I put the contents back into the purse, reinstalling the Extension Charm, and step out. After the entrance closes behind me, I cast a self-recording spell on the notebook. I can almost feel a quill scribbling furiously. 

“Hello, Miss Cabros,” Rhodes welcomes me with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Welcome to Glamour Escort Services.”

“Thanks, Miss ...”

“Rhodes.”

“Miss Rhodes. You can call me Donnita.”

“Could you show me your pa pers?” she asks. It’s almost like she didn’t notice me trying to be friendly.

“Absolutely.” I give her Donnita’s papers, and then look away, trying to hide my nervousness. There is a huge mirror to my right. The reflection on it is that of a woman I can vaguely recognise. It gives me some courage.

“You’re from America,” Selene mumbles, writing it down on a register. 

“Mm.”

“Your wand, please.”

“Cypress, twelve inches, unicorn tail and swishy,” I explain, looking into her eyes as I hand over the wand, searching for some hint of remorse, regret, fear. Anything. They are, however, expressionless. 

“Interesting combination,” she remarks. She takes out her wand and - to my horror - says, “ _Priori Incantato_.”

An image of my notebook erupts from the end of my wand-tip. Rhodes turns towards me, eyes narrowed, but I’m too quick for her. I snatch my wand back and hex her with a non-verbal Memory Charm. “The last spell performed by Miss Cabros’ wand was,” I speak forcefully, “an Engorgement Charm. You will write that down.”

She is a bit dazed but she nonetheless follows my directions. “That will be all, Miss Cabros. Please have a seat.”

“Good,” I mutter, breathing properly only after she disappears inside. 

This is not a smooth beginning; my hands have started shaking already. I can only hope that I don’t have to meet Pansy today. 

“Miss Cabros.” Rhodes still appears mildly disoriented as she returns to her desk. “Miss Parkinson will see you now. The door to your right, please.”

The day couldn’t get any better. Inclining my head towards Rhodes, I gather myself, take one last look at the mirror in a bid to restore my faith in the new identity, and prepare to meet Pansy. But the walk to the door is short and stifling. By the time I’ve reached the room, I’m certain Pansy is going to see through it all. I don’t know why, but right now, she is to me the most devious witch in the country. Not altogether a baseless opinion, of course, considering how their family business has met so much success - Pansy just seems to have the upper hand. This is her territory.

Yet when I enter and find her leaning against her huge desk in fitting white robes that accentuate her curves to their fullest effect and her black hair piled on top of her in an elegant bun, she holds me in a gaze that can only be described as cold appraisal. “Stop,” she snaps. “Don’t walk like that with your shoulders all stiff. Loosen them up.” I obey her and try to change my posture. “Turn around and let me see your arse. Hmm. Stay there.”

I don’t like having my back turned towards Pansy, unguarded and at her mercy, but I don’t really have a choice. She doesn’t wear shoes, so I can’t hear her getting closer. I can, however, see us both on the mirror to our left - positioned on what I assume is the corresponding spot of the one outside. Her eyes are scanning me in the same way the Sweeping Spell in the entrance did. When she puts an arm around my waist, I almost stop breathing.

“Look at yourself,” she whispers in my ear, gently turning me around. We’re facing the mirror, with her hands running up and down my side. “Are you beautiful, Donnita?”

I consider my hair, the subtle make-up, the brilliant green eyes, the perfect teeth, the fuller breasts, the narrow waist and the wider hips. Then I say, “Yes.”

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs. “I didn’t catch that.”

“Yes,” I say in a louder voice, looking her in the eye. “I _am_ beautiful.”

“Good,” she replies, the smile on her face a sign of approval. “Because I don’t care for anything less than that. Come, let’s have a chat.”

As I sit down on one of the many couches strewn about the room, she perches herself on top of her desk and conjures two glasses of champagne. I accept the one that floats towards me and thank her. 

“I don’t care why you’re here in Britain,” she begins without preamble. “I don’t care who your parents are. You have passed the preliminary identification process so far, and even as I conduct this interview, your address is being checked out by my people. Ah!” A young wizard Apparates right into the room and hands her a scroll of parchment before going to stand at the other end of the room, where the wall is decorated with tiny portraits. None of them makes much sense.

“Don’t mind him,” she remarks lazily as she peruses the paper. “He’s my personal hound. Exceptionally good at dark magic, in spite of his age. That’s how they make them at Durmstrang. Very loyal. Hmm. You weren’t lying about where you live, and it’s safe of stupid tricks.”

“You went through my possessions?” I ask her with some heat.

“Yes,” she says. “I did. So far, you appear to be who you claim you are.” After Vanishing the scroll, she adds, “Fabulous! Now, Donnita, tell me why you’re here.”

“I want to work with you,” I answer, straightening up. 

“You want to be an escort.”

“That,” I answer slowly, “and more, if there’s more.”

She doesn’t respond immediately, smiling at me and then taking a sip of her champagne. “Interesting,” she says at last. “How do you know we could help you with ... more than just playing escorts to filthy rich, useless wizard bastards?”

“Miss Parkinson,” I say, making the glass disappear with a wave now that it was getting serious, “you have to admit that there aren’t that many filthy rich, useless wizard bastards in this country to supply you the kind of Galleons and fame you’re bringing in.”

“Good point,” she admits. “But how do you know it’s something _you_ would want to do?”

“Because I want some of that. The money. The fame.” I have eased myself into Donnita enough to say what I’m about to say. “And I’m beautiful. I deserve it.”

“That you do.” She puts her glass on the desk and slides off, motioning at me to get up. “I think you’re ready to see what you’re about to see, Donnita. Dmitri, if you can open the inner chambers for us, please.”

It’s hard to hide the excitement that is surging inside of me, although showing it might not be a bad thing. Pansy can assume her new recruit can’t wait to get started. As for me, this means I’m about to get to see what really is going on in this place. Dmitri turns around and raises his arms. The many portraits on the wall begin to move, following the directions made by his hands, until they merge to form a perfectly rectangular painting of an orgy. A jigsaw puzzle, and a not very subtle one at that. It springs forward to reveal a narrow corridor. 

“Shall we?” asks Pansy. 

I follow her inside, clutching my purse tighter, now apprehensive as to what I might find. She looks into the peephole of the first door, then shaking her head continues walking. This goes on for the next four doors, until at last she turns to me with a triumphant expression on her face. “You might like this one,” she assures me. “Go on.”

Trying to act cool, I smile back at her. When I do see what made her so happy, I have to stop myself from recoiling. A black haired man, who has his back turned on me, is thrusting into a girl. So, Pansy is running a brothel. 

“Keep watching,” Pansy orders from behind. 

I have never watched or read anything pornographic in my life. Would I have been comfortable with this if I had? No, I don’t think so. This is the last place I would come to for gratification or entertainment. It sickens me.

I don’t know what Pansy is trying to achieve, though. I get it. Her employees have sex with people who are willing to pay. It’s prostitution, as simple as that. I could watch this man’s bum move for the next hour, and it wouldn’t make the conclusion any less different.

When he pulls out and kneels on the bed, with his profile clearly visible - that is when things change. I have to grip the handle of the door hard so that I don’t faint. And then my knees buckle. The woman is climbing on top of him, burying his head on her breasts. A woman with a sheet of dazzling blonde hair. 

I can’t watch any longer. 

“I ... didn’t know that ...” 

“That Harry Potter and his dead friend’s sister-in-law are fucking behind everybody’s back?” Pansy finishes for me, gleeful.

“I didn’t recognise her,” I lie.

“Ah. Well, let’s carry on.”

_This can’t be_ , I tell myself. This is not true. There is no way Fleur is cheating on Bill, no way Harry would do this. This doesn’t make sense. Fleur is going to have a child.

“Here’s another one, come on.”

“Do I have to?” I ask her. “I think I understand the line of business now.”

She merely inclines her head towards the peephole. I have no choice but to oblige. This time, I lose it and jump back immediately. 

Harry’s inside, his tongue running over Draco’s chest.

“It’s impossible!” I gasp. “Harry Potter was just there in the other room. He-”

Looking immensely pleased, Pansy offers me another peep-show. 

“Don’t tell me Mr Potter is shagging himself there,” I say, unable to help myself. 

She laughs. “No, it’s not Potter. But if you know anything about the wizarding wars, you will recognise these two.” When I hesitate, she narrows her eyes. “If you have had enough...”

“No.”

I regret it soon enough. “They are both dead.” I need to fight the bile rising up my throat. “They died.”

“That doesn’t stop people from entertaining weird fetishes, does it?” she says. “Dmitri!”

We’re back in the office. 

“Why?” I ask her. 

“Why do some men like girls with tiny feet? Why are there women who are turned on by brushing?” Pansy shrugs. “I don’t concern myself with these questions. I only aim to provide the tiny feet and the brushes. You see, one of our clients rented a male escort and offered him a lot of Galleons to have sex with another girl, the only condition being that the escort had to disguise himself as Potter and the girl as the client. Odd, isn’t it? But it gave me an idea to expand our business.”

“How did you know about it?”

“I was the girl. Not that the client knew that. At any rate, there I was in this hidden room with a two-way mirror, shagging Potter’s doppelganger as the client watched from the other side, no doubt pleasu-”

“But it’s a form of violation, isn’t it?” I cut in. “Harry ... Potter didn’t know.”

“And it didn’t hurt him. It hurt no one. It made me richer and left the client satisfied. Even now, there are around ten Harry Potters in this building fucking ten different people and being watched by ten different clients. And the world continues to spin.”

“How are you so sure that this will remain a secret?”

“We’ll come to that in a minute,” she says. “Before that, let me enlighten you on the employment benefits. You don’t have to know who’s watching you. You don’t have to know who’s fucking you. You don’t have to think it’s you being fucked. All you have to do is allow our experts to assign you a role according to demands, put glamour charms on you so that you resemble the person, and shag. Fifty Galleons per performance.” She glances at my purse and comments, “I bet you’ve never had fifty Galleons in your purse, have you?”

“No,” I reply, suddenly happier as I remember the purse and its contents. The self-recording quills had completely slipped my mind. I have to keep her talking, make her spill everything, and then get her arrested for the heinous exploitation she has been thriving on. “But you still haven’t told me why this arrangement is fail-safe. There are a lot of loose ends. Someone orn the other might end up talking.”

“What would the clients say?” she asks with a laugh. “That they saw Potter fucking Malfoy? No one knows the true locations of these chambers, except Dmitri and me.”

“What about the employees?”

“They would prefer life to death.”

“What do you mean?” I ask breathlessly.

“I mean, as part of the terms of employment, you have to take an Unbreakable Vow. You cannot divulge anything you hear, see, read, or say in this place. In any form, at any period of time, to anybody. You cannot discuss it, even by accident.” 

“An Unbreakable Vow?” I ask her, going cold.

She sits down next to me on the couch and touches my face. “You look pale. Don’t worry, Donnita. If you think this is too dangerous, we can always wipe your memories and send you home. One or two have done that, but the rest usually understand the profits involved and stick around.”

“You - you mean I cannot repeat what I’ve heard today -”

Shaking her head, she takes my hand and laces my fingers through hers. “So, are you in, or are you out?”

What are my options? On one hand, I could make her wipe my memories, except I don’t know how much damage she might end up doing. On the other, if I take the Vow, I can’t give my notes for evidence or speak to anybody. I need time to figure out how to get out of this, but for now, I must act.

“I’m in.”

“Excellent. Dmitri, if you will oblige us.”

As Dmitri raises his wand, Pansy and I join hands. The wand-tip is cold and heavy on my skin.

“Do you swear,” she asks me, “that you will not reveal the terms of your employment at Glamour Escort Services to anybody, at any time, or by any means?”

“I do.”

“Do you swear that you will not divulge company information to anybody, at any time, or by any means?”

“I do.”

“And do you swear that you will remain in my service until and unless I see it fit to release you?”

I hesitate. Pansy grips my hand tighter. 

“I do.”


	3. Smoke and Mirrors

+++

The coin has been heating up in my jeans pocket for the past hour, and I’ve been ignoring it, knowing full well I can’t ignore it forever. Boot will get worried. Resigned, I take it out and check. A telephone number. With my wand, I give her the time she can expect the call. Then, grabbing my coat, I head out of the flat in search of the nearest telephone booth.

There is one not too far from the building; Boot chose the address well. On an impulse, I take out my mirror and check to see if I’ve been followed. There’s no one acting suspicious. Pansy must put a lot of faith on the Vows. 

“Hello?” Boot’s clear, deep voice greets me from the other end.

“Donnie here.”

“Where the hell have you been?”

“I couldn’t escape.”

“From what?”

“I can’t say right now,” I tell her carefully. 

“Anything new?”

“No. Not yet.”

“You went there?”

“I did.”

“And?”

“I didn’t see anything we didn’t know already.” That shouldn’t get me killed. “I’ll keep reporting as I find out.”

“Did you meet Parkinson?”

“Not yet.”

There is a brief pause, punctuated by her heavy breathing. “All right. Let’s not rush this.”

“I’ll get in there soon,” I promise, feeling stupid as I do so. “Say, about Rhodes. He died of natural causes, didn’t he?”

“Yes. Inspected by both Healers and two Squib doctors.”

“What were these natural causes?”

“A massive heart attack.”

“Something he didn’t have a history of.”

“No.”

“Those photos of Selene Rhodes. Did he try to show them to anybody?”

“Not that we know of. Why?”

“I have a theory. I can’t discuss it right now. Could you have that checked again, about Rhodes? And will you find out about his will? What did it say?”

“All right. I will.”

+++

It’s 4 a.m. in the morning, and I don’t want to die.

I’m pretty sure Marvin Rhodes tried to show the photos of his daughter to somebody, which brought the curse of the Unbreakable Vow upon him. He must have thought they could provide a hint without him reneging on his vow. So, photographic evidence is out of the question. 

My notebook. It’s on the side-table, its presence growing heavier by the minute. Every minor detail of what happened on my first day at Glamour can be found here, up to the point where Dmitri cast the Vow on Pansy and me. What if somebody came across it and decided to snoop? I can’t risk carrying it everywhere. I’ll have to Transfigure it and hide it in the flat. 

I also reckon it’s time I learned how to extract my memories. And maybe, how to erase them. My audition is in a few hours. I’ll be having sex for money. _For my job_. I will have sex with a complete stranger. _To bring Pansy down_. I’ll sacrifice my long-standing principles. _To destroy Glamour Escort Services._

No. I can’t do it. This is not me. I cannot have sex with strangers. This is _not_ me. It’s abhorrent. Demeaning. Repulsive. I could back out now. I could pretend I didn’t find anything. I could tell Boot I saw nothing. It’d be easy to dispose of Donnita - she’s an illusion, anyway. 

And then what? Can I back away, knowing that the employees are nothing more than Pansy’s slaves, bound to her until she releases them? Can I live the rest of my life knowing that Harry’s image is being misused? Can I let Pansy get away, let her earn more money feeding those voyeuristic clients? I don’t even know who these clients are. I have so much more to investigate. 

I can’t give up. This is the only thing I’m living for now. I have to fight.

+++

“Room number six,” Selene informs me. “Here’s your key. Take the corridor to your left. Your Magistylist is waiting for you.”

“Thank you, Selene.”

Without bothering to respond, she returns to her work. I pick up the key, a thin short stylus made of steel. Odd shape for a key, but then, this place doesn’t seem to favour commonplace methods. The doors along the way are all shut. The hallway is silent and foreboding. It’s almost like a hotel, except more secretive. 

Room number six’s door is closed as well. There is no keyhole either. Not knowing what else to do, I knock on it; a circular hole emerges on the surface of the wood. The key slides easily into it, and the door swings open. My room is large, with rows of clothes hanging on both sides, and pairs of shoes displayed on the shelves. If I didn’t know the purpose of these collections, I’d be impressed, even thrilled to know they are mine to use.

“Oh, hello there.”

A man has just emerged from the side-door, dressed in serene blue robes with small lace trimmings; he has skin so impossibly smooth and hair so unabashedly blond that I can only stare in wonder.

“Jacques,” he greets me, smiling. “You don’t have to tell me your name.”

“You can call me Donnie. I’d prefer you know my name if we’re going to work together.”

“Ah, of course.” With a clap, he increases the brightness of the room. “Of course, I’ll call you Donnie. I’ll be your stylist.” Taking out his wand, he waves his hand in the general direction of my body and murmurs, “May I, Donnie?”

I’ve never stripped in front of anyone. Turning my face so he won’t see the grimace, I tell him to go ahead. My clothes fall off my body immediately, leaving me in my bra and pants. I can feel him staring, but when I look at his face, his expression is serious, a bit reminiscent of my mum when she reads the content of a food package. He doesn’t appear at all aroused by the sight; that makes me breathe easier. He catches me gazing at him and raises an eyebrow.

“You don’t have mirrors in here,” I observe. 

“That’s true.” 

“Why?”

He extends a slim finger and presses it below my chin, turning my face from right to left. “Because you are not going to work as you.” He instantly brightens up as though he’s been struck by a spectacular idea, then hurries towards the clothes. “I received the instructions from Miss Parkinson this morning,” he explains while rifling through the hangers. “ _You_ are to become one of the most recognisable faces of the wizarding war, Donnie. I’ve only been asked to do her twice. Although, hmm. I could never quite get her perfectly right. But you ... you might just be what I’ve been waiting for.”

“Who?”

“You’ll know, eventually.” His wand detaches itself from his fingers and hovers in my direction, decreasing my bust and then going lower, aiming for my hips. “Depending on how well-versed you Americans are on recent events in Europe, that is.” Even as he searches for suitable attire, he waves his free hand this way and that, and his wand goes over my hair, giving it a brown hue, making it shorter, a little curlier. In my mind, I start running a list of girls who have this type of hair. There are quite a few - Lavender Brown, Katie Bell, Tracey Davis, and two other witches whose names I cannot recall at the moment. “Oh, where is it? It was a lovely shade of lilac,” he fusses, running between the racks, and then after throwing a glance at me, shouts, “The nose! It’s the nose!”

I freeze when the tip of wand flies up to meet my nose. “Who - who is-?”

“Aha! Here it is!”

Even before he shows me the dress, I know which one it is. I know who I’m supposed to be. 

Hermione Granger.

“My love,” he gasps, after everything is ready, “you look just like her.”

+++

I don’t remember how I got here; I switched off after hearing Jacques’ happy announcement. I can vaguely recall him leading me along a small corridor. Or maybe, I’m imagining that. I’m inside a chamber, sitting on a large, clean bed, legs crossed and hands gripping the edge. One side of the walls is an expanse of dark glass where my reflection is captured. Naturally, I don’t look at it. There is somebody else on the other side, watching, and I have no intention of them catching a glimpse of the horror on my face.

_I can’t do this._

There are worms wriggling inside my stomach. I can’t do this, but neither can I run away. 

So, I’ll stay. I’ll end this somehow. It won’t be pleasant, but it will be done. Somehow, I can swallow again. I can feel myself getting a little courage. I’ve faced worse than this. I’ve seen death. I’ve lost Ron. I’ve done all that I could for what is right. _This is just my body_ , I tell myself. In a way, that’s better. I’m not violating anyone else. 

But when I hear the sound of the door opening and see Ginny striding into the room with a small smile, clad in her Harpies Quidditch gear, my resolve weakens again. Not Ginny. Not her. She’s one of the only two best friends I have left. I don’t want to ruin it. Please. _Please._

_Please, not you. Not you, Ginny._

I can hear myself whisper this over and over again, as she puts a finger on her lips and tells me it’s all right. That it’s her and she wants me, has always wanted me. And although I’m trying to push her away and denying this and begging her to leave me, she persists. Her eyes are brown and warm and earnest and her fingers are in my hair and she’s pushing me down the bed, her legs pinning my body under her weight, and she’s whispering in my ears that it’s fine. It’s good. _We’re here, just the two of us_. I won’t believe it. It’s all a lie. So why does her embrace comfort me? Why can’t I shake her off even as she pulls the zipper down? Why do her lips feel so soft and perfect?   
__  
No. No, Ginny, No.  
  
But she’s rough and tender and whispers lies about wanting me. She’s everywhere, on my neck, my breasts, my nipples. She’s between my thighs and I raise myself to push her away, but I can’t. “You’re mine,” she says, her teeth upon my neck, biting ever so gently as her fingers plunge inside me, gathering every drop of strength left in my body and blasting it to dizzying splinters.

+++

“Yes?”

“Donnie, I’ve had a word with Jackson. We don’t know if Rhodes was trying to show them to anybody. What we can confirm is that he stole them from his daughter. The inquiry into the will has, however, helped us learn something rather intriguing.”

“What?”

“Rhodes wanted to donate the photo of his daughter to our division. We had taken possession of it anyway, so the wizard who handled the will apparently didn’t think it was worth troubling us with the information.”

“All right. Okay.”

“Can you tell me why you wanted to know this, Donnie?”

“Not now, Boot. I’m getting there.”

“Take care.”

“I will. Good night.”

+++

“You, my dear,” Jacques declares for the fifth time today, “were born to be Hermione Granger. This is why you got her again, and I think all future Hermione Granger’s performances will be given to you.”

I’m now clad in old jeans and a lumpy jumper. My hair is bushy and my face is devoid of make-up. I feel too much like me to be comfortable. “Is there a way of finding out who my client is, Jacques?”

“Oh, that’s classified information, dear. You aren’t even allowed to know the identity of your partner.”

“And _you_ don’t know with whom ...?”

“No, they only give me your role.”

“Right.” Taking a deep breath, I apologise to Jacques. “I am sorry about yesterday. I got nervous.” 

He waves it off. “That was expected. I was ready to carry you all the way. You managed to walk on your own feet, though. I should thank you for that.” I watch him mulling over the hemline of a dress, where the thread has come off. “I need to fix this.”

“Why don’t you work on that? I can leave now.”

“There’s still thirty minutes left to go.”

“That’s fine,” I shrug. “I’ll try to get used to the setting.”

“Makes sense,” he beams. Then, opening the side door, he gestures at me to go on. “Right at the end. And, Donnie,” he warns when he sees me holding my wand, “that remains here.”

“Oops!” 

I put the fake wand inside the purse, slipping on a finger the wand I had transfigured into a ring earlier and exit the dressing room. As soon as he shuts the door, I mutter the incantation for changing the wand back, and then tap the walls to check for charms. There is only one entrance to the chamber, but it leads to different corridors. I can’t get anything. Perhaps, Dmitri is using magic I am not familiar with. 

Armed with a Disillusionment Charm, I quietly enter the room and conduct the same search. Once more, the magic is unrecognisable. The mirror itself seems opaque at first, but upon closer inspection, I can make out the faint outlines of a lone sofa. Excitement immediately sweeps over me. I cast a variety of revealing spells and wait. The surface becomes clearer for a few seconds before returning to its original near-impenetrable state but they’re more than enough. There is a sofa on the other side. I can see it as clear as daylight. 

I have to think of a way to get close enough to the mirror during the performance. The Vow didn’t ban me from getting a client investigated, for unrelated charges. That is something I haven’t thought of yet. If I do know who it is, I could still come up with something to frame them. Not the best idea I’ve had in a while, admittedly, but it’s not useless. And it gives me hope. 

Removing the Disillusionment Charm from my body, I approach the bed. I am knackered, having managed to sleep for only an hour in the morning. Another restless night, and I expect more. Ginny was bad enough. What if they send a Harry? A Malfoy? A ... Ron? Or ...

No, I shouldn’t think. I can’t bear to. There is no option that can make this easier for me. Even if I get a complete stranger, it wouldn’t change the fact that I am having sex out of compulsion, not choice.

If only this exhaustion would leave me. I haven’t felt this wrung out since the war, when I was on the run with Ron and Harry. A heaviness descends upon me as I let my head sink into the pillows. It’s easy to give into it. It’s only for a while...

I’m standing at the edge of the Hogwarts lake, my body taut. The grounds are deserted, and the only sound audible is that of the wind blowing across it. It’s a pleasantly warm afternoon. Stripping down to my bra and pants, I dive into the water with a loud splash. I swim away from the shore without looking back. I have no intention of returning. 

Then, this laughter reaches out to me, and I have to turn around. She’s calling my name and waving her arms, asking me to come to her. Time stalls, caught between the lazy ripples on the surface and the vivid hair whipping across the freckled face. Against my better judgement, I propel myself towards her, my heart lifting when she jumps into the lake. In a matter of seconds, we’ve reached each other. Before I can make the first move, she has put her arms around my waist, and we’re kissing. 

And we’ve been transported somehow to the shore, our legs entangled. Her hand is slipping inside my pants, inside me, its thrusting slow and calculated. I grab her hair and, inhaling the intoxicating fragrance of roses, command her to go faster, deeper, harder, and she whispers, “That’s it, Hermione. That’s it. Surrender to me.”

I close my eyes, saying yes, yes, yes, pushing her face towards my breasts, giving myself up to the powerful, maddening, aching sensation overtaking my body, but when I open them, the tranquil blue sky has been replaced by a smooth, lighter shade. I’m fully clothed, although the buttons on my shirt seem to have been undone. Ginny, dressed in her Quidditch robes, has her lips around my nipple, her hands inside my jeans.

“No,” I moan. “Stop.”

With her free hand, she pulls my face up and tells me, “I love you.” 

And it’s Ginny’s voice that I hear.

+++

“I want to have a word with Parkinson.”

“You do know she’s the boss and you bloody can’t meet her any time you want to,” Rhodes replies irritably. She’s busy scratching the back of her neck. “You have to write an application and submit it to me. I’ll then let you know - Ugh! Fuck this thing!”

“What’s wrong?” I ask her.

“I have these fucking blisters which appeared out of nowhere and they fucking hurt.” 

“Let me have a look.”

“Are you a fucking Healer then?” she mutters, glaring at me. There are tears in her eyes. 

“My mother was one.”

After glaring at me some more, she finally swivels her chair and lowers her collar. There are a group of vicious red blisters sprayed across the skin. “Have you been taking a potion?” I inquire. 

She adjusts her dress and avoids my eyes, mumbling a faint yes.

I wait for an elaboration, but it doesn’t come. “Is it a Calming Draught?”

“How the fuck do you know?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” I snap. “Yellowing nails. Discolouration of hair at the roots. Stinging blisters. If you went to Hogwarts and read your copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ thoroughly, you would have learnt not to abuse the bloody potion.”

Both of us freeze as soon as I finish speaking. 

“I did go to Hogwarts,” she says slowly. “Obviously, I didn’t read it as carefully as someone did.”

I reach for my wand, but before I can pull it out of the purse, Pansy walks out of her office, frowning. “What is with all this noise?” she asks us.

I hold my breath, waiting for Rhodes to put two and two together and spill the beans. But she draws herself up and gets to her feet. “We’re sorry, Miss Parkinson,” she says with a small bow. “Miss Cabros wanted to see you. I was explaining to her that she’d have to hand in an-”

“You wanted to see me?” Pansy turns to me, raising an eyebrow. Scared of opening my mouth and letting out a squeak instead of a human voice, I nod. “Come in.”

Deciding not to risk Rhodes catching a glimpse of the panic on my face, I ignore her and head for Pansy’s office. “You want to talk,” says Pansy. “So, take a seat and talk. I don’t have much time to spare.”

She remains standing, arms crossed and irritable. Without sitting down, I ask her, “Can we discuss our assignments, or does the Vow have issues with that too?”

“Why do you want to discuss your assignment?”

“Hermione Granger and Ginny Weasley. Four days in a row.” I throw up my hands in an effort to show my frustration. “I don’t actually care who’s jerking off to this, but it’s getting a bit ... monotonous.”

“Do you honestly want variety?” she asks me. When I hesitate, she starts smiling. “You should feel lucky you get just the one partner. You can almost pretend it’s real, that you’re having sex with your lover.”

“I don’t want a lover,” I reply forcefully. “If I wanted one, I’d have taken any of those rich wizards back in America who were desperate to get into my pants.”

“Indeed.” She sounds bored. “Unfortunately, you don’t get to choose whom to shag in this place. The two of you must have ... hmmm ... created some magic. Your client can’t get enough of it. She has booked the two of you for an entire month.”

“What!” I cry in horror. “A month?”

“Yes.” Then, returning to her desk, she says, “Don’t worry. You get weekends off.”

+++

“Donnie!”

I’m calling Boot after more than a week. The relief in her voice is clearly audible.

“I’m making some progress, but it’s going rather slow.”

“Even so, I’d be less worried if you called me a little more often than once a week. I may be in the dark as far as the details are concerned, but I’m at least certain I’ve sent you somewhere unsafe to do something not to your liking.” 

“I don’t want to risk coming here every day,” I say tiredly. “The Muggles will get suspicious. Most people own mobile phones now, which are portable-”

“Yes, yes, the goddamn mobile phones.” She sounds as tired as me. “All right. Use the coin then. Send any random message. I’ll sleep better if I know you’re alive.”

“Okay. I will.”

+++

For the past few days, I’ve been going into Glamour Escort Services and walking out without acknowledging Rhodes’ baleful presence any further. So far, she has been reciprocating my deliberate lack of attention. She must have her suspicions - there’s no doubt of that - but she apparently isn’t planning on doing anything about them.

Or, she is already doing something about them. She could be re-examining my papers and digging into my American past. That’s what I would do. Maybe, ignoring her isn’t such a good idea. I should talk to her. When I check the lounge, however, the reception desk is empty. I’m surprised by this; Rhodes has never left her post to my knowledge. I turn back and head for the toilet. I don’t enter immediately, stalled by the sound of sobbing. She must have heard me coming, though, because the sniffling has suddenly subsided.

I wait outside for a while, to give her some time to recover. Although a lot of people working in this building must be on the verge of depression, I’m willing to bet my OWLs it is Rhodes. I walk in finally, feigning nonchalance, but irritation builds inside me as I find Rhodes coolly smoking, her eyes and nose barely red.

“Hello,” I say casually as I take out a mascara from my purse. “How’s your skin now?”

“It’s quite all right.” 

“That’s good to know.”

We’re silent for some time. She watches me darken my eyelashes, blowing smoke in my direction. I restrain myself from coughing. 

“About that day,” I begin carefully, “I want you to-”

“I don’t give a shit,” she cuts me off. 

I stare at her.

“I don’t give a shit about you or your fake identity or your stupid accent.” She is now observing her own reflection and making smoke rings. She means what she is saying. For some reason, that pisses me off. I was afraid she’d spill the beans, now I’m annoyed her stance is apathy.

“Why not?” I snap at her. “You ought to tell somebody. You’ve been a faithful employee so far, haven’t you?”

For the briefest of moments, she turns white. The small victory makes me feel better than I’ve done in ages, but not for long. She snorts and stubs out her cigarette on the marble counter. Then, leaning towards me, she says, “Because, you’re stuck here forever, undercover or not.”


	4. Treading Water

+++

I was always scared of heights. That’s why I didn’t like flying on brooms. Riding the Hippogryiff was a nightmare, and I tried to forget I’d once clung onto the back of a blind dragon. At this moment, perched on the window sill with legs dangling from the third floor, I’m starting to think this isn’t so bad. Vertigo is something you can deal with. Acrophobia has no bearing upon your conscience.

It isn’t these fears that haunt you or bring you humiliation. No. Shame and unease arrive when you do something wrong while being aware of its wrongness. Shame and unease are the shadows on my face after the heat has left and my feet are cold. 

But before that shame and unease, there lies a winding, blinding undergrowth full of velvet petals and thorns that I walk through naked, knowing that the bliss is fleeting and the bleeding, lasting. She is not Ginny. She is not Ginny. She isn’t. The freckles splattered over the nose are an illusion, crafted by the magic of an expert who has never heard her laugh. She is not Ginny. Her arms, though wiry and quick, probably never held a Quaffle. She is not Ginny. Those lips never kissed Harry’s. She is not Ginny.

She isn’t, and yet, I cannot help feel safe under her gaze. 

I am bound to the bed, dressed as a Hogwarts student, and she is in her Harpies uniform, as she is in every performance. I want to hate her, inflict on her the sense of defeat and helplessness consuming me. I want to shake her and yell at her to take a good look at herself. _You are not bloody Ginny_ , I want to scream. Stop acting like you are. Stop this madness. Stop this sham. 

I don’t. The light falls directly upon her, making the redness of her hair flare up in rebellion against the dimness of the room. It burns, reminding me of Ginny whenever she’s under the sun. And then she’s taking her shirt off, and the hardness of the belly, the smallness of the breasts - they _are_ Ginny. The smile on her lips, the way she throws her head back - they _are_ Ginny. I’ve seen Ginny with Harry far too many times to not think that when she pulls off my skirt, wraps my legs around her and plants kisses upon my pants, the look of adoration on her face _is_ Ginny. 

“Release me,” I tell her.

“Say _please_.”

And the voice is always Ginny.

“Please.” Her nails are grazing across my thighs. “ _Please_.”

“What will you do if I release you?” she asks, licking my knee. 

“I’ll - I’ll fuck you.”

“Promise?”

“Yes. Yes, I promise.”

The cuffs fall off, and I’m free. I spring up and push her down, kissing her on the lips furiously, hungrily. We roll on the bed - it’s almost like a fight - to be the one on top. Sliding off, I order her to come for me, walking backwards until I can feel the cold, solid glass against my back. But before I can sneak a glance, she grabs my hair and forces me to look at her.

Then, I forget about the mirror.

+++

I shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t be here. It could blow my cover and destroy the whole operation. But I had to, for the sake of my sanity. I have to see Ginny outside of that room and remind myself that the real Ginny is a completely different person.

I’m in a café across the Harpies’ office, waiting for her to come out with her team. She once told me she hated the food at the canteen, so she usually has her lunch in this place. Sure enough, a few minutes after one, they walk out the front door, a noisy, carefree bunch, and cross the street. I readjust the hood of my sweater and push the sunglasses further up my nose. As they file past me, I watch her. She is grinning. 

They fill up the long table behind me, shouting and yelling about being hungry enough to eat a dragon, moaning about being harassed by their coach. I try not to feel jealous of their uncomplicated life. I bite into my sandwich and chew it as though I’m eating as a punishment; I don’t feel remotely hungry.

“Hey, Weasley! Here’s another strand of your bloody hair.”

“Oh no!” Ginny groans. “I swear I’m going to go bald at this rate.”

“Stressing out, are you?”

“Nah,” Ginny replies. “I’ll have to get it cut.”

“That’s not gonna stop it. You should talk to a Healer. I mean, it’s getting really bad, isn’t it?”

So, Ginny’s been losing hair. I wonder why. 

“Here are your orders, girls!” chirps the waitress. “Now, don’t move. My wand is trying to handle twelve different glasses. We don’t want accidents.”

“Chocolate shake again?” Ginny moans. “Wilma, I would like to try something different now.”

“Oh, honey, you love it, don’t you?”

“Well, I do. But I’d like to try something else next time. Like ... Oh damn, you’re right. I do love this bloody shake.”

There is a round of laughter. It makes me smile.

“Anything else?” asks the waitress.

“No, thanks. Please get me the bill.”

“All right.”

I come out of the café, my faith restored. The Ginny I meet every day is not my friend, just an imposter. It doesn’t matter that I think about her all the time. She’s a mirage. She’ll be gone when I get too close. The real Ginny won’t, even though she’ll never kiss me or look at me the way I want her to. That knowledge makes me both happy and devastated.

When I turn around the corner, I almost scream. Slapping my hand across my mouth, I backtrack hurriedly and head straight for the nearest alley. Dmitri is here.

+++

Today is my third Friday as Hermione; I only have a week remaining with her. I’m adamant I won’t continue working after that. If I have to do something about this case, it needs to be done before the next month starts. Selene Rhodes is my sole chance.

Not once have I met any of the other employees or seen any of the clients. Jacques doesn’t even mention the other stylists. To be honest, I’m not sure if there _are_ other stylists. The lounge is always empty whenever I’m in the area. Pansy must have had some sort of magic in place that has made this arrangement possible, but Rhodes is the receptionist. She must be privy to such information. If the two of us work together, we might be able to think of a way to use what we know in order to expose Pansy’s business.

I must talk to Rhodes in private. The fact that she has been taking Calming Draughts and crying in the toilet hints she is traumatised. If I can convince her that we could escape this, she might agree to help me. With this newfound hope, I enter Glamour Escort Services. The buoyancy is punctured when I see a different girl at Rhodes’ desk.

“Where’s Selene?” I ask her.

“She’s not well. She’s taken a few days off.”

“Any idea what’s wrong with her?”

“No.” 

On the way to my room, I signal Boot through the coin.

+++

“Yes, Donnie?”

“I need Selene Rhodes’ address.”

“Breakthrough?”

“We’ll see.”

“Just give me a few moments.”

+++

The area where Selene Rhodes lives is much nicer than mine. Pansy must pay her a larger salary. There are quite a few Muggles out, so I draw my coat over me to hide the wand. Rhodes has put up a few wards around the place. I break them quite easily.

I knock on the door a fair few times before it opens. Selene has a hood drawn over her face. She raises it by a few inches, finds me at her doorstep and blinks several times. 

“They said you were-”

She grabs my arm and draws me inside. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

It’s only when we’re in the living room that she lowers her hood. She looks awful. Half of her hair is gone, and what remains on her scalp is a mixture of white and blonde. “Shit! It’s got much worse.”

“Of course it has! I never stopped taking it, did I?”

“Selene, I-”

“Why are you here?” she hisses at me. “Are you here to laugh at me?”

“I’m here to help.”

She shakes her head, more in disbelief than disappointment. “I am beyond help now. I’m done.”  
I reach for her hand but she withdraws it under the sleeve. Then, throwing herself on the sofa, she immediately breaks down. Sighing, I join her, gingerly putting my arm around her shoulder. 

“We can do something about it,” I say. “I wanted to see you anyway, so we could work together and get out of this mess. Get Parkinson arrested. Have the place shut down.”

“That’s not going to make everything okay for me, you know,” she says. “I killed my father.”

Although shocked, I don’t say anything and let her speak. 

“We didn’t know what we were getting into when we took the original oath of employment. None of us. Their business was legitimate then, and Dad had worked for Padraig Parkinson for years, before Glamour started. Pansy knew I had a boyfriend. She approached me about this thing I could do. I didn’t tell my dad about this, but he eventually found out. He tried to stop me, but I didn’t listen to him. It was easy money. Both Carl and I were basically getting paid for shagging, even though we did it as other people. It was wrong, but we were both stupid, you know.”

She stops for a while, gazing into the distance. In an effort to encourage her, I rest my hand over hers. They’re covered in blisters, but I don’t recoil. She doesn’t shake it off.

“Dad didn’t like it. He thought it was illegal, and it was. He found some photographs of me that weren’t really ... decent. We had a big row over that. Though I’d taken them back, he had managed to steal them back and donated them to the Ministry in his will, effectively breaking the Vow.”

“You didn’t kill him,” I assure her. “There was no way you could have broken the contract or turned against Pansy. Your father made his own choice.”

“I was greedy,” she mutters. “But I gave up the ... the sex.”

“Where’s Carl?”

“He left me after the fiasco of my father’s death and the subsequent inquiry. He’s still working there. We pretend we don’t know each other personally. I just ...” She pauses, smiling sadly. “I just wish Dad had found the third photograph and given them to the Ministry as well.”

“You mean there were more than two?”

“Yes. The third one was charmed to show the role I could play.” She turns towards me at last. “You’re with the Ministry, aren’t you?”

I nod. 

“D’you know Hermione Granger?” she asks me. 

I nod again.

“You could pass for twins.”

This time, it’s my turn to smile in bitterness. “Do you have access to the assignments?”

“No. But I do have a list of the employees’ names and the partners they have worked with, as well as their resumés and employment records, which include the mandatory photographs of themselves in disguise. I left duplicates in the office. They will self-destruct after a week, by which time, the place will have been shut down.”

“You said mandatory photographs. I wasn’t required to provide mine.”

She shrugs. “Maybe, Parkinson reckoned you could pass off as Hermione Granger one day. The thing is, no amount of magical charm can make you look like somebody else completely, unless you’re using a Polyjuice Potion. There must be a few slight differences. But it works for the perverts behind the mirror. Mine was -”

“Stop!” I yell. “You can’t give me particulars. You’ll break the Vow.”

This time, her smile is joyous. “I don’t care,” she says, gripping my hand. “I want to be free.”

“So - so, you are going to -?”

“Give all the evidence I can to the Ministry,” she replies. “And ... die. Peacefully. Without guilt.” 

“But-”

Pointing a finger at her head, she tells me, “I can’t do this anymore. This is not how anybody’s supposed to live.” She picks up her wand and conjures a huge folder out of the air. “Can I trust you with this?”

“What is it?”

“The evidence. You can end it all by giving this to your people. I was planning to hand it over myself, but in a way, this is better. I can go quietly before the Ministry people barge into my house to interrogate me.” She opens the folder, takes out a sheet of parchment and seals the rest with a charm. “You’ll be fine as long as you don’t view the contents. Technically, you’re giving away a few papers _I_ asked you to.”

“Even if you’ve told me what they are?” 

“How do you know I’m not lying?” she asks. 

“Fair point.”

“This,” she offers me the single sheet, “is for you.”

I don’t take it yet. “What is it?” 

“It’s your record. It has the name of your partner on it. I reckoned you might want to keep that a secret.”

Overcome with gratitude, I hug her. She embraces me back tightly, and we don’t let go for a while. I think I know why. 

“Thanks,” I whisper.

“No, thank _you_.”

Afterwards, when I’m about to Disapparate, I ask her one last question. “How did you manage to steal this folder out of Glamour?”

She grins. “I threw them out the toilet ventilator.”

+++

I’m in the kitchen, the folder on one side of the table, a cup of tea on the other, and my record in the middle. It has been wiped clean by Selene; I can only retrieve the writing with a revealing charm.

Tomorrow, I will meet Boot and give her the evidence.

Tonight, I will learn who has been posing as Ginny.

Part of me doesn’t want to find out. How would I feel if it turns out to be some random girl? What if it’s somebody I recognise? Although I’ve been aware of the undisputed fact that every single thing that happened in the chamber is a sham, I’ve also been growing accustomed to it as a part of my life. In a way, it brought a semblance of constancy. I was with Ginny - or I was with a girl who looked and sounded exactly like her. Suddenly remembering Selene’s words, I amend myself. 

There can be no one exactly like Ginny. 

Every rule, however, has an exception. Pansy managed to find somebody, just as she managed to find me for Hermione. There is a girl somewhere who can don Ginny Weasley’s looks, voice, laughter and attitude and make them her own. 

Perhaps, it’s not such a bad idea finding out who she is. That would shatter the delusion I keep slipping into so often. 

To gather some courage, I pick up the mug of tea and sip some. Then, pointing my wand at the parchment, I utter, “ _Revelio!_ ” Black ink gradually appears on the blank white. I can feel my stomach clenching as I lean for a closer look. 

The silence in the flat is broken as the mug crashes onto the floor. There is only one name next to mine in every single performance.

_Ginevra W._


	5. Unbreakable

+++

It’s Saturday morning. I don’t have to open the papers to see what’s on the front page. In fact, not seeing Selene’s picture might keep me hiding for some time. I’ve already dropped the coin in a glass of water so I can ignore Boot.

I want answers to several questions and I am not about to emerge before I get them. Why would Ginny do this? How could she? Is this what she’s been losing her hair over? Does she need the money that badly? Or is she doing this because she enjoys herself? How long has she been working here? Is she okay about shagging a Hermione look-alike? Does she enjoy it? Why hasn’t she tried to contact me?

But I am not me. 

Picking up my wand, I Apparate into my other flat, the one where I should be living. It’s clean and tidy due to the numerous charms and wards I put up. I didn’t stop owl post, though. There is no letter for me. And then I remember I’m not supposed to be here. Hermione Granger is on a bloody mission to Budapest. Why should Ginny send letters here? Cursing loudly, I return to Cabros’ living room. 

I have to see Ginny. I cannot give up the papers to Boot before I speak to her and ask her why. I break her wards and Apparate right into her bedroom, but her place is empty. Maybe, she’s at the Burrow. I can’t risk going there yet. 

Before I can Disapparate, I can hear two the noise of two resounding cracks coming from the living room. It’s Ginny. She’s giggling. And the other voice is that of a man. 

“Why don’t you stay with me?” she asks him. 

I Disillusion myself and quietly leave, deliberately not looking at them kissing on the sofa. When I return to my own place, I notice that the glass where I put the fake Galleon in is shaking violently. The coin has overheated, causing the water to boil.

+++

“Where the hell have you been?” This time, Boot’s truly not impressed. “Did you read the sodding _Prophet_ yesterday?”

“I did. Selene’s dead.”

“You wanted her address. Did you go to see her?”

“I did.”

“And?”

“She shooed me away.”

“And that’s the truth, is it? Do you take me for an idiot?”

“No,” I say, suddenly desperate. “One week, just one week, Boot. You’ll have everything.”

“One week. That’s all you’re getting before I drag your arse back here and force-feed you Veritaserum.”

+++

Jacques is fiddling with a wedding dress when I walk into my room. “Morning, Donnie,” he wishes me cheerily. Then, he gasps. “But you are already Hermione Granger.”

“I am,” I tell him. I didn’t come as Donnita Cabros today. “You can leave it all to me today.”

“Ah.”

I conjure up a full-length mirror, ignoring his protests, and remove all my clothes till I’m naked. “Give me the dress,” I order him. He looks almost scared as he passes on the long, white gown. I put it on and get ready.

“You’re early,” he tries to say, but I’ve already left. I rip the satin belt off along the way, then standing next to the door, wait. Already, I can hear her footsteps growing louder. She’s early, too. As soon as she enters, I grab her from behind.

“Sssshhh. It’s me. Hermione.” She stops struggling and doesn’t protest as I bind her hands with the ribbon. “Hello, Ginny.”

“Hi,” she says. There is no hint of alarm in her voice. She doesn’t react when I pull out my wand and run the tip along the middle of her Quidditch shirt. The fabric splits, revealing her breasts and erect nipples. 

“You like this?” I ask, cupping her breasts. 

“Yes.”

“I am sick of your Quidditch look, Ginny.” 

“Then get rid of it.”

“Oh, I will,” I tell her coolly, removing the rest of her clothes with my wand. “With pleasure.”

+++

If I hated her yesterday, I love her today. I thought that I resented her for having power over me, but now, our naked bodies entwined, our chests pressed together, and our tongues exploring each other’s mouth, I realise that conclusion was wrong. I wanted Ginny to feel a little of what I’ve been going through, to be as confused as I have been, but it’s almost as though she knew it was me all along.

The eyes. I think that’s where the truth is. Her warm brown eyes. We may not be together outside of this room, but here, it doesn’t matter. I don’t even give a damn for the voyeur watching us on the other side anymore. 

“What if we just fall asleep here?” I ask her, spent.

She nuzzles into my neck and says, “Then we sleep.”

I laugh and close my eyes, but when I wake up, she’s gone. 

Later, when I reach home, I Summon her papers from the folder and, without looking at them, burn them.

+++

Time has a habit of changing our lives, our thoughts, our priorities; the things that were important to us then are often not what are important to us now. We’re remoulded and reshaped, our malleable selves determined by new desires, new goals, new feelings to be passionate about. That’s what makes us human.

I am Hermione Granger. I’m twenty-two years old. I have a new reason to live, and it’s Ginny Weasley. 

There’s no one else for me now. With Ginny, I don’t have to make a fresh start or apologise for my faults. She has known me, always. We’ve been friends for years. We’ve been through the same horrors. We’ve held hands in desperate times. With Ginny, I won’t have to let go of the past that made me who I am. With her, I am safe. With her, I am happy. 

“I wish I’d known all along,” I tell her. She’s lying with her head resting upon my chest, hair spread all over me. It smells of roses, as it always does. 

“Known what?”

“That it was you.”

There is no answer. 

“But you knew it was me, didn’t you?” I ask to confirm.

“Yes,” she murmurs. “You can’t escape yourself, Hermione. You’re always you.”

She laughs softly and draws patterns on my skin with her fingers. We’ve descended into silence. I decide to change the topic.

“Is your hair okay now?”

“Hmm?”

“Weren’t you having trouble with hair loss?”

She sits up instantly. “How do you know?”

“I - I was in that cafe where you go with your friends, and I-”

“Hermione.” She puts a hand over my mouth. “Don’t ever do that again. It’s dangerous.”

“But we already-”

“Just stay away from me,” she says earnestly. “Trust me. It’s safer that way.”

+++

Ginny doesn’t know yet about what is going to happen over the weekend; Glamour Escort Services will be shut down and its owners, arrested. I haven’t confided in her because I’m scared. I don’t know how she’ll react since I’m not privy to her motives for being here in the first place. What if she wants this job? What if it is a form of escape for her? Do I even know what she’s been going through? I’ve been so shut in by my own losses that I shut out everybody else. Her relationship with Harry is over. Did I ever try to talk to her about it?

There’s also an undeniably selfish part of me that doesn’t want this precarious balance to shift. If I can’t have Ginny outside of this, then I want to have her now. 

But I _have_ to give up the papers. I have to finish this. It’s the right thing to do. Ginny must be told now, before she wakes up on Saturday morning and find out through the _Prophet_. She doesn’t deserve the shock, nor the betrayal from me.

“It ends tomorrow,” I start, pulling on my clothes.

“You never know.”

“Ginny, there’s something I have to tell you, but we can’t talk here. I need to see you tonight.”

She throws up her arms in frustration. “Hermione, how many times do I have to tell you-”

“This is important.” I look at her seriously. “I’ll meet you at your place.”

+++

I no longer live as Donnita; I use the identity only while getting in and out Glamour’s premises. At home, the contacts and nose are discarded. The Engorgement Charms go. Only the straight black hair remains, but that is quickly fixed with a few charms. I don’t miss Donnita a single bit.

It’s six o’clock now. I’m kneading my hands in an effort to calm down. _You’re doing the right thing_ , I keep reminding myself. _She’ll understand_. Half an hour later, I pick up my wand - my original wand - to Apparate, but I can’t move. Anti-Apparation wards must have been set up at her place. I Apparate into the street outside her house instead, using a corner alley, and walk up to the house and ring the buzzer. 

“Who’s this?” Her voice is slightly nervous.

“Hermione.”

“Oh!” She sounds surprised. I can’t work out what that means for us. “Well, come on up.” A happier tone. That gives me some relief.

“Hey!” 

She looks delighted to see me and pulls me into a hug. “When did you get back from Budapest?” she asks excitedly. 

I roll my eyes as I walk inside. “Anti-Apparation wards?” I inquire.

“Oh, that! I think somebody broke in the other day. All my wards were down. Just wanted to be careful.” She leads us to the sofa, flinging herself on it. “What’s new with you? Or is it all top-secret stuff?”

“Stop it,” I mutter irritably. “I told you I’d be here.”

“You sent me an owl? I’m sorry. Pig has gone mental. He won’t let an owl near the place. I haven’t got owl post in weeks.”

“No,” I snap. “Ginny, stop this, seriously. There’s something I have to share with you before we see each other again tomorrow.”

“All right, calm down! I don’t know what I’m supposed to have done, but never mind. You can tell me anything you want to.”

“You are really good at this, aren’t you?” I scoff. Anger is getting the better of me. 

A frown creases her face. “Hermione,” she says carefully, ”what’s going on?”

“What’s going on?” I say loudly. “Ginny, it’s okay now. You don’t have to pretend any longer. It’s all going to get over soon, so you might want to stop acting like we haven’t been fu-”

“Hello!” Dennis Creevey barges into the room with a stupid grin on his face. “Hermione, haven’t seen you in ages.”

I turn to Ginny, who is staring at me with her mouth hanging open. “How long have you been together?” I demand.

“What the hell is up with you?” she snaps at me.

“Uhm.” Dennis shifts uncomfortably. “I’ll just go to the bathroom.”

“Have you been taking her pictures?” I ask him.

“Well, yeah.”

“And I suppose she’s not wearing anything in them.”

An apologetic smile appears on Dennis’ face, but Ginny’s now getting up. “And why do you have a problem with that? You’re not my bloody Mum.”

“I’m not,” I say, preparing to leave. “I’m nothing.”

“Hermione!” she shouts, but I’m already running down the stairs, eager to reach home and have a drink. For tomorrow, I must appeal to the kind of bravery I don’t usually rely upon. But tonight is relentless in its insistence to torture me. Before I can reach the alley, somebody stops me.

“Granger.”

Pansy Parkinson is standing under a tree, immaculately robed in black and enjoying a cigarette. “Didn’t know you lived in these parts,” she says. 

“Didn’t know _you_ did.”

She smiles. “I don’t. I came to check up on a friend.”

“You have friends. That’s news.”

“Come on,” she says earnestly. “We’re no longer at Hogwarts.”

“Some things don’t change.”

She lets the cigarette drop and puts it out. “I wouldn’t bet on that,” she says. Then, with a little bow and a smirk, she walks away, leaving me alone in the street.

+++

Today is my last day with Ginny in this chamber, and it is ending with a charade. This thought, though repulsive, gives me strength. I carefully apply make-up on my face and pull my hair into a sleek bun. Then, I select a set of robes I’ve been refusing to put on so far, much to Jacques’ indignation: scarlet and distinctive. An Auror’s uniform. I split it at the thigh.

She’s in the room when I enter, her expression uncertain. For once, she’s early. Her eyes widen at my ensemble. “That’s not you,” she says.

“I don’t want to be me,” I tell her. “Now, kneel.”

“Hermione -”

“Kneel,” I repeat, pointing my wand at her. “This is just a performance, isn’t it? So, let’s perform. Kneel, Ginny.”

Reluctantly, she obeys me. I walk behind her and pull up her chin gently; the light falls on her face. “How does it feel now?” I ask her when she closes her eyes. “Can’t stand the glare, can you? I couldn’t either. Your hair burnt like a flame every time I was lying on the bed, under your body, under your charm. I was helpless. I was trapped. I was going mad and I didn’t know what to think. Was it the real you? If so, where did that put me?” 

I pull her up and shove her into the bed. “But you played it like a professional. You were my lover as long as you got Galleons for it. You were my lover as long as that swine there -” I point a finger at the mirror “was entertained.”

Apart from the rise and fall of her chest, she barely moves. 

“Not today,” I say. “Today, it is _my_ rules, Ginny.”

“What do you want me to do?” she asks at last.

I remove the robes and face the mirror. “You know what to do.” 

Then, I switch off. I don’t feel her hands, or her lips, or her tongue, or her finger. I don’t feel any of it; I refuse to. I stand here, vaguely aware of my body swaying as she tries to crack my shell. I don’t move when, with tears running down her face, she kisses me. I don’t react when she pushes me closer to the mirror, and using my wand, clears the screen. It’s only when I notice the empty sofa on the other side that I stir.

“There was nobody,” she says. “It was just us.”

I look at her uncomprehendingly. Even as she picks up my robes and covers me up, I can’t move my jaws. 

“Well, it’s about time, anyway,” she says, returning to the bed. She pulls out a wand from underneath the mattress and conjures a glass of wine. “Just a few more seconds.”

Our eyes are locked. Slowly, and to my utmost horror, her brown irises change to green. The freckles disappear, replaced by unblemished milky white skin. The red hair goes darker and darker until it becomes black as night. The Quidditch robes change to a green silk dress. “Pansy,” I gasp. 

“Yes,” she says, finishing off her wine in one go. “It was me.”

I slide to the floor and draw the robes closer around my body. The room has gone much, much colder. “Why?”

“Just wanted to mess with you,” she says. “At first. You can’t trust the mirrors in this place.”

“You ... you saw me,” I manage to say. Things are quickly, heavily falling into place. “When I hexed Selene on my first day.”

“I did. I saw you. Great disguise, but it failed. Your accent may have changed; your voice didn’t.”

“You succeeded. You had her right down to the toes, including the voice.”

Even before Pansy comments, I answer myself. _No amount of magical charm can make you look like somebody else completely, unless you’re using a Polyjuice Potion_. “There’s something in that chocolate shake,” I say. “You’re bribing the waitress.”

“Controlling her,” she corrects me. “Turns out Galleons can’t buy everything. I have a friend in the Harpies, so I was aware of their routine. Our family stocks Polyjuice Potion. I was able to arrange everything the night before we started.”

“Dmitri. Imperius Curse.” Shaking my head, I say, “All this. Just to get back at me. You could have wiped my memory on the first day. You could have turned me away and carried on with your business. But vengeance is sweeter, isn’t it, Pansy? Though, I haven’t done you any harm except the old enmity from Hogwarts.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, don’t act like you’re above it,” she retorts angrily. “Don’t be such a hypocrite. You were quick to take a jab at me yesterday.”

“And that is supposed to equal what you did to me?” 

“No,” she says. “It was never my plan to draw this out longer than necessary. I thought I’d fire you once I’d had my fun.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“Merlin, you’re such a fucking idiot.”

“Oh, for the love of God, don’t tell me you fell in love with-”

“But I did!” she yells, shutting me up. “I fell for you. Do you know what you gave me, Hermione?” I don’t answer. “I haven’t loved anybody decent. None of them showed me what tenderness meant. No one but you. Now, I know what it is like to stay in love with someone who will stick with you.”

“It wasn’t you I was making love to, Pansy,” I remind her.

She gets off the bed and joins me on the floor. “It was,” she says. “Weasley was never here.” 

“It’s not the same.”

“Then what are you going to do?”

“Go home,” I say truthfully.

“To -” she raises her wand and pulls a folder out of mid air “-this?”

Although stunned at first, I begin laughing. “Was that planted by you as well?”

“I wish. Selene actually managed to steal them. Thought she wouldn’t break the Vow, but she did go mad in the end. Not surprised she chose life over death. Dmitri retrieved it from your place yesterday while you went to see Weasley.” She Vanishes the folder. “And now, it’s in safer hands.”

“Let me go,” I beg her tiredly at last.

“Come with me instead,” she tells me with a kiss.

+++

She’s not Ginny.

The hands caress me like they always have; the heat of the tongue is very familiar; her mouth tastes the same. 

But she’s not Ginny. 

A little after midnight, I leave her sleeping peacefully on her bed, and go straight to Grimmauld Place. If Harry’s sleeping, he’ll have to wake up. To my relief, he isn’t. He’s in the kitchen, scrubbing a huge pot. 

“Harry.”

He finds me standing there and drops the pan in surprise. “You gave me a shock.”

I run to him and slip my arms under his, breaking down. The tears come so fast and thick that they sting. Harry doesn’t ask any questions; he draws me closer. I cry for a long time; I cry until the weight on my body subsides. He finally makes me sit down on a chair and asks me if I am okay.

“Were you afraid, Harry, when you ... when you went to the Forest?”

“What do you mean?”

“Walking into certain death,” I say. “What is that like?”

“You fought in the war, Hermione. You are no stranger to living on the brink of death.”

“It’s different,” I insist. “There was always a chance I’d come out alive.”

After a heavy sigh, he shrugs. “I was scared.”

“Even though you knew you were dying for the right cause?”

“Even then.” 

“Thanks.”

“Why do you ask?” He observes me closely. “What are you thinking of doing?”

“Oh, don’t worry,” I say airily. “I’ve been working on a case and it has been ... daunting. But it’ll be closed tomorrow. Two people involved died. You could almost say they committed suicide.”

“And you’ll be okay?”

I smile. “I’ll be free.”

“That’s good.”

“Harry,” I ask him again, “do you ever want to return to the past?”

He takes a while to respond, fiddling with a goblet. “No,” he says. “It’s tainted now.”

“I think so too. It can’t be the same.” Taking a deep breath, I add, “Ron’s dead.”

+++

Everything’s ready. A signed statement. Phials of memory extracts. My notebook. I put them together in a case and lock it with fifteen different charms that only Boot can break. Then, I leave Donnita Cabros behind and Apparate right into my boss’s garden.

“Hermione,” she greets me. “Well done!”

I give her the case and, without thanking her for the compliment, return to my own flat. I don’t want to meet my parents; Boot will have to take care of that part. I am not brave enough to inform them myself of what I’ve done. 

It’s great to be home. Instant of regret, I only feel a great sense of calm. All I have left to do now is sleep - that shouldn’t be a problem. But the bell rings a few minutes after I’ve settled on my bed, with a good book. If it’s Pansy, I’ll have to drive her away. If it’s Dmitri, I might kill him. Armed with my wand, I check the peephole.

It’s Ginny.

“Hey, I am completely sorry about last night,” I say breathlessly as soon as I open the door. “Not sure what had got into me. I was hexed in Budapest and I think I imagined you -”

“Can I come in?” she asks.

“It’s kind of late.”

“Can you stop being a cow?”

“Right. Come in.”

“I’ve been looking all over for you,” she begins. “I came here five times today, I checked the Ministry. I even checked with Harry earlier. Where the hell were you?”

“Can’t say. I was working.”

“Hermione,” she says, sighing. “Look, I was terrible last night.”

“I was obnoxious.”

She rolls her eyes. “We can talk now. You can tell me what it was.”

“It’s all right,” I assure her. “I was hexed. I was a little unstable.”

“You sure?” she says sceptically.

“Yeah.”

“Are we okay?”

“Of course, we are.”

Grinning, she draws her arms around me. I smell her hair. Menthol. When she kisses my cheek, the ache in me is faint. The spell has wholly broken.

“I’ll see you soon, okay?” she says before I close the door.

“Yes,” I reply. Then, with a smile, I head for my bed and my book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who read this, and also to those who gave kudos! :)

**Author's Note:**

> This story is already completed. I'll be posting all the chapters soon. Hope you enjoy it.


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